All There Was to Give
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: After a traumatic hunt, Sam struggles to comfort Dean. He's desperate to figure out how to make things better for his big brother, the same way Dean always makes things better for him. One-shot. Weechesters/Teenchesters. Caring/Worried/Sam and Sad/Protective/Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This entire fic was inspired by the amazing art displayed as the cover-pic. I have placed the link to the incredibly talented artist's tumblr in my main profile page, because it won't let me post it here. Anyways, you should really check out that babe's blog/art because it is breathtaking. Enjoy!

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Sometimes I forget that my big brother is mortal.

Even now that I'm grown, a part of me always sees Dean as some sort of invincible superhero, regardless of the fact that I am often the one reminding him the he is _not_ invincible.

I don't know if it's just that I'm the younger brother or what, but whenever Dean is injured or hurting - be it physically or emotionally - a part of me is always startled by his apparent vulnerability.

However, I am never put off by it, or look down on him for it, because he is human just like the rest of us.

Although to me, I suppose he will always be a hero.

Even now, after I've patched him up and he is lying concussed on the bed.

Even now, as I prepare to spend the night waking him every hour and asking him his name as I check his pupil dilation.

Even now, as he seems so small and breakable, stretched out on the mattress.

Even now, as I recall the first time I realized just how human my brother could be.

Even now, I know he is, and always will be, a hero.

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I was waiting in the car.

Again.

I had thought that my waiting in the car days were finally over, but apparently not.

Then again, at least this time I understood why they were leaving me behind.

I had seen Dad's research on the kitchen table and I knew that whatever it was him and Dean were after, it took children.

Dad had suggested that I stay back at the apartment, (the place we had been renting for the past couple months), but then Dean had pulled our father to the side and they had one of those hushed conversations. They always had those quiet talks, where they stand real close and whisper about a bunch of stuff they don't want me to hear. They've been having less of them since I learned about hunting, but it still happened from time to time, like earlier tonight for example. Anyways, after their hushed discussion, Dad had decided that I wasn't allowed to stay on my own anymore.

I knew they were both just worried about me, so this time when they left me sitting in the Impala, I didn't complain...well not _that_ much.

They had been gone almost an hour now, I couldn't see them past all the trees, but I wasn't supposed to try and call them until another hour passed. I sighed, sitting back against the middle of the front bench seat, my homework spread out on my lap, the shotgun sitting next to me, and a flashlight in my mouth.

I grunted out of frustration. I wish Dad and Dean had been a little less concerned, because then I could have been back at the apartment where I would actually be able to see my damn math questions.

I smirked, well as much as I could with a flashlight trapped between my teeth, Dad would be so mad if he knew that I thought of that curse word. Dean would probably just smile, except he'd still tell me not to say it, because even though he got to curse when he was eleven, I wasn't allowed.

Another thing about my life that was unfair. Not that I really minded all that much. I didn't much care for swearing, but it was still fun to say those kinds of words sometimes, even if it was just to see the look on Dean's face.

I had just finished my multiplication worksheet when I heard a noise from outside, I dropped my homework over my shoulder into the backseat, and grabbed onto the shotgun, taking the safety off and pointing it forward.

I tried to stay calm and steady like Dad was always telling me to, but it was a difficult thing to do when you were all alone.

I held my breath as the noise grew louder, clenching my hands harder around the weapon, when they began to tremble.

I shook my head, flicking the hair out of my eyes as I kept my focus forward, staring steadily out the Impala's windshield.

Every single one of my muscles was coiled in anxiety, as my palms became clammy with the fear of what was approaching.

The sudden appearance of my brother had me sagging in relief, the tension melting off me as I finally released the breath I had been holding.

I flicked the safety on the firearm, letting it fall onto my lap as I watched my father exiting the forest right behind Dean.

Then, I did what I always did whenever they returned from hunts, (before I had started accompanying them), I checked them both over. Scanning their bodies, looking for damage; assessing their strides, searching for weaknesses; studying their faces, seeking distress.

Both Dad and Dean passed the physical test, no visible evidence of injuries, limping, or pain; but I was not yet sure about the emotional side of things.

Dad looked tired, his face downcast as he marched past me toward the trunk. Dean was not sporting the cocky grin he usually had on after a hunt. My brother loved the thrill of the kill, and he never had a problem displaying his glee when it went well. Even when it didn't, Dean would always send me a wink or a small smile, just to let me know that everything was okay, because he knew how nervous I would get when him and Dad went hunting.

That didn't happen this time.

Dean glanced momentarily in my direction, his eyes raking over my frame, the way they always did when he was checking to make sure I was okay. I saw my brother's face long enough to tell that something wasn't right. He looked pale, his mouth set in a tight line, as his eyes seemed to droop. The older teen hung his head before I could finish my examination, and followed our father to the trunk, where I could hear them returning their weapons.

I waited nervously in the front seating.

I was always waiting.

I rolled my eyes at my own dramatics. Dean was right, I could be a drama queen, not that I would ever admit to that aloud.

The sudden opening of the driver's side door startled me, but I settled immediately as my father dropped in behind the wheel. He didn't send me into the backseat the way he normally would, he didn't even ask if I finished my homework, he just grabbed the shotgun off my lap and placed it on the floor in the back. After that, Dad angled himself toward me. He had a sad sort of look when he placed his palm on my cheek, smiling softly for a moment, gently patting my face before he turned forward, pulling the keys from his pocket.

I didn't have time to ask any of the hundred questions bouncing around in my brain, before the passenger door swung open.

I turned to watch Dean slide into his seat, tugging the door closed after him, all the while gazing intently into the footwell. I attempted to subtly lean forward, hoping to get a better look at my brother's expression, but all that did was make him turn away, facing his side window instead.

I switched my attention to my father, hoping to acquire some more clues as to what the hek was happening, but he only stared out the windshield, starting the engine and steering the Impala back towards town.

I sat quietly in between the two silent hunters, biting my lip as I fought to keep all of my mounting inquiries inside of me.

I liked to talk about things. I needed to talk about things.

Dad and Dean didn't.

Dean would talk if I bugged him enough, but I always knew that was more for my sake than for himself, and Dad only ever got angry or sad when I tried to get him to talk about things.

I had learnt years ago, that both of them much preferred keeping their feelings silent, so in order for me to ever figure them out, I always had to watch closely. I was constantly looking for clues in their expressions, their body language, and what they said or didn't say.

It was no wonder I was getting so good at research. I had been doing it long before I knew anything about hunting.

I released a silent sigh and settled back on my seat, accepting the fact that no one in the car would react well to being asked for details about whatever had happened on the hunt.

However, just because I was electing to remain quiet for Dad and Dean's sake, it didn't mean I still didn't want to find a way to make my big brother feel at least a little better.

It was Dean's refusal to speak or meet my gaze that had me the most concerned. My father's gentle behaviour was definitely out of place, and I had caught a glimpse of deep sadness in his eyes and the lines of his face, but tonight wasn't the first time he had been that way, and I didn't imagine it would be the last. Dean however, well Dean had never been this reserved before. Even when I asked too many questions, especially ones about mom, and he got upset, he would just get angry and yell, or leave, or beg me to stop asking; he never got all sad and quiet like he was now.

And I really didn't like seeing Dean look so defeated.

I shifted closer to the teen, noticing belatedly that even with three of us on the bench seat, there was still room to move around. I inwardly scowled at the realization, because it attested to the fact that I was way too small.

I shook my head, ridding thoughts of my unfortunately tiny size, this wasn't about me. It was about Dean.

I slid to the right until my shoulder was brushing against my brother's...well...upper arm. Dean didn't move, his head didn't even twitch my way, but that didn't matter.

I glanced down, following his left arm until I found the hand he had fisted tightly on his lap. Without a moment's thought, I grabbed onto it, turning it over in my hands and carefully uncurling each one of my brother's fingers. Once his hand was opened and relaxed, I brought it back and tugged it over my shoulders, leaving it to rest on my left arm as I eliminated the sliver of separation between the two of us.

Once I had tucked myself fully into Dean's side, I relaxed; leaning into him and letting the back of my head fall gently against his chest.

It took a minute, maybe two, before I felt my brother grip my shoulder and place pressure on it, pulling me snuggly against him. It was only then that I released a breath, one I hadn't even known I'd been holding.

Whatever Dean was dealing with, whatever had him looking so broken, it wasn't so bad that he had withdrawn completely, it wasn't so bad that he couldn't accept some degree of comfort.

There was hope in that.

And it was all I needed.

Although my focus was on Dean, and my eyes were gazing out at the road, I didn't fail to notice my father glancing our way, or the way the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed to ease when he saw us.

Maybe I wasn't the only one who found hope.

We arrived at the apartment in silence, no verbal sound was made as all three of us climbed from the car, I didn't even take the time to grab my homework out of the backseat, and Dad didn't bother getting anything from the trunk. I supposed he had no desire to clean any of the weapons that night.

We all trudged inside, up to the fifth floor and into the small two-bedroom apartment.

"It's late. You boys best head to bed." Dad ordered, his voice gruff, but light, not containing the hard edge it often did when giving demands.

He gently ruffled my hair before nudging me in the direction of the master bedroom, which was being shared by both Dean and I. The other room only had a single bed, and seeing as we had to share, Dad gave us the master. It had a queen bed, along with the bigger closet, and its own bathroom.

I nodded obediently, reaching out and tugging on the sleeve my brother's jacket, when I noticed him just standing still and inspecting the carpet.

Dean didn't look up, but he reacted to my prompting and followed me into our bedroom.

He entered behind me and pulled the door closed, instantly snagging the double-barrel rifle that was always left resting up next to it.

My eyes grew at the action. Dean only ever held onto that when he was worried about something coming after us, or when Dad was late getting back. On most nights the knife he kept tucked under his pillow was enough security.

"Dean?" I questioned, my voice hushed as I took a step closer to the taller boy.

"Get ready for bed." He instructed, the sound coming from his lips not much louder than a whisper.

I hesitated, itching to know what was wrong and how I could possibly fix it, but I knew better than to expect my brother to just come out with it; so I obeyed his request, grabbed my pyjamas, and headed for the washroom.

I rushed, completing my nightly routine in half the time it usually took me. I didn't like leaving Dean alone, not when he was behaving so strangely.

By the time I returned, Dean had himself seated on the edge of the bed, the side closest to the door, where he always slept. The rifle was still in his grip, but it was now rested across his lap as he sat staring at the carpet. I could see his face better now than I could in the car, (finally one good thing about being short), and I couldn't miss the way his piercing green eyes had faded, looking almost dull and grey...and sad. I felt something in my chest twist, making it ache, as I watched my big brother.

I had never seen him like that.

And I never wanted to see him like that ever again.

I hated that hunting did that to him.

And I would never forget it, or forgive it.

"Get to bed, Sam." Dean ordered, glancing at me for less than a second before twitching his head to the right, indicating my empty side.

I nodded, tossing my bundle of worn clothes on the floor and climbing up onto the mattress, crawling until I was up by the headboard.

"Aren't you going to get ready, Dean?" I asked, moving closer to my brother when I didn't receive a response.

"Dean?" I repeated, coming around on his left, resting my hand on his shoulder and craning my neck around to see him.

His freckles were so much more prominent with his pale complexion, as were the scratches on his face. I had barely noticed them before, they were so small. I paid closer attention to them now, they weren't deep or bleeding, there were only three and they seemed as though the kind of mark one would get from a tree branch. The scratches were all too shallow to even cause infection, so I didn't make a comment.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

Like why my big brother refused to look me in the eye, and why he appeared so wrecked.

"Dean? What happened?" I inquired softly, not wanting to push or add to his pain, just needing to know what it was I had to fix.

"Nothing. We got it. Everything will be fine."

"Then why are you holding this?"

I tapped the weapon still clutched in his fingers.

Dean moved his gaze to the rifle, twisting his hands around it as he spoke.

"We think there was only one, but they could hunt in pairs. You can never be too careful."

Those were Dad's words he was reciting, but the raspy tone belonged to my hurting brother.

"The research didn't say anything about them hunting in pairs." I stated softly, not trying to argue, simply attempting to reason-away my brother's fears.

"I know. But if they do...and the partner wants revenge...he could...I can't let it get you." Dean whispered.

I tried to peace together his fragmented thoughts, and all I came up with, was that regardless of the creature's termination, Dean was still worried about it getting to me.

He had been since Dad took the hunt a few weeks ago. Kids disappearing, never to be seen again, no evidence as to their where abouts. Just gone, out of thin air. Dad and Dean had both been concerned about me, not letting me go anywhere other than school and home, one of them always keeping both eyes on me, which I hadn't argued with because I knew they were worried.

But Dean was more than worried now. He was scared.

I wracked my brain, trying to figure out why my brother would be worse off after the monster was dead than he had been before. Then I realized what might have changed.

Before Dad and Dean went on the hunt, they had no idea what was happening to the children. They discovered a supernatural creature that might have been snatching them, but none of the research had told them what it would be doing with all the kids, (that much I had been able to piece together from the research Dad left on the kitchen table and the hushed conversations I wasn't supposed to be hearing, because neither of my family members had permitted me to be able to participate in _any_ aspect of the this particular hunt).

Perhaps when the two of them killed the monster, they found out what happened to all the children it took...maybe that was what frightened Dean.

"Did you...did you find the other kids?" I inquired timidly.

Wrong question.

Dean's eyes immediately filled with moisture as he turned his face away from mine.

"Yeah, yeah we did, Sammy. It was bad...they were all...that's why I can't...if there's another one, I can't let it get you." He croaked.

I winced, it sounded like Dean was choking on sobs. I watched him swallow several times and wipe hastily at his eyes before he spoke again.

"I can't let it get you." He repeated, more conviction in his tone, but it still came out as a hoarse whisper.

I frowned, struggling to figure out how to deal with a situation I had never been in before. Dean was always the one offering reassurance and comfort, giving it to me before I even knew I needed it, before I even had to ask. Now it was him who required those two simple things, and I had no idea how to provide them.

But I would damn well try.

I leaned back on my knees, shifting so I was further behind my brother, before I wrapped my arms around him. As my fingers grazed the amulet, I held onto it for a moment, brushing my thumb over that ugly little charm that Dean wore so proudly; I heard my brother release a sigh - that almost didn't sound strangled - and I let the amulet fall back where it belonged, resting against his chest. I clasped my hands together in front of Dean and rested my chin on top of his head, feeling his short hair tickle my skin as I settled against him.

I stayed like that a moment, content to feel the older boy's body relax a tad, his white-knuckled grip on the rifle easing as he breathed a little easier.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I stared blankly at a stain on the wall, trying desperately to think of what to say to make things better for Dean.

He always knew exactly what to say to make everything better for me, he had done it a million times before, the least I could do was return the favour.

"Nothing is going to get me, Dean. I'm safe. You and Dad killed the monster, and now I'm safe. You always keep me safe. I'm going to be alright. And so are you. We are going to be okay, Dean. I promise."

The words seemed so little. But they were all I had. All I could think to offer my big brother, the person who always gave everything.

I glanced down at Dean, just able to see part of his face past his hair. I studied him, hoping that I hadn't made it worse, that I hadn't caused him more pain.

I caught sight of the twitch of his lips, that eventually lead to a small smile.

"Thanks Sammy." He said, his voice a little more clear, losing that sorrowful undertone that had been infecting it since the hunt.

But I wasn't truly relieved until Dean brought one hand off the rifle and rested it against my clasped ones. He gripped onto me and I unfolded my fingers so that I could grip back.

It wasn't a cure-all remedy.

Dean was still hurting. I could see it as clear as the freckles on his face.

But it was better.

And when you were a Winchester, sometimes all you could hope for, was better.

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I never discovered what happened to all those kids, it remained one of the many family secrets that I would never be privy to.

But just like every other secret, I knew Dean only kept it to spare me the pain, and I could never begrudge him for that.

Keeping those traumatic memories to himself, was another way Dean protected me, another way he tried to save my innocence and keep me safe.

Try as I might, I will probably never be able to repay him for that, but I hope that - on occasion - I was able to return at least a fraction of what Dean gave to me.

I hope that on that night all those years ago, and other nights like it that have occurred since, that I was able to provide my brother with some of the reassurance, the comfort, and the peace of mind that he always handed over so willingly to me.

I hope that I was and am able to help my brother through the tough times, by simply displaying the complete faith I have always had in him.

The faith I still have in him.

More than anything, hope that I haven't failed Dean.

Because he has never failed me.

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Note: Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? Emotions? Please comment if you have a second, it would mean a lot! Thanks for reading! - Sam


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I know it was supposed to be a one-shot...well now it's a two-shot. Here you go babes! I sincerely hope that none of your days were as awful as mine, but if they were, I hope this makes them a little better!

Warning: you learn what happened to the children in this chapter, and it's a little gruesome.

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I scared Sammy.

I could tell by the wide-worried hazel eyes that greeted me on my return to reality, after being chucked across the graveyard had caused me to black out.

I could tell by the anxious tremble of his hands as he helped me stand

I could tell by the way he hovered, following less than an inch behind me all the way back to the Impala.

I could tell by the nervous way he chewed his bottom lip as he patched me up with a deft touch.

I could tell by his whispering tone of voice as he fussed over me, making me comfortable before permitting me to drift off to sleep.

I could tell by the way he gently woke me every hour, paying no mind to my frustrated comments as he checked my pupils and helped me sip water, before softly telling me to go back to sleep.

I could tell by the way he spent all night seated in that uncomfortable wooden chair, which was pulled up as close as possible to my bed.

And I can tell now, as I crack open my eyes and see that familiar shaggy head resting on the mattress next to my shoulder, and feel the thin fingers wound tightly around my wrist.

I know it always scares Sam when I am down for one reason or another. Shockingly, even with our chosen careers, I didn't get badly injured all that much and I got sick even less, but every now and again it happened.

Maybe it was because I didn't get hurt all that often, that my being down and out, frightened Sam in such a way.

Or maybe it was because when we were growing up, I sold the superhero vibe a little too strongly.

Either way, me getting injured always left my little brother a little shook up.

That is okay though, because I have always known how to handle a scared Sammy.

And it's not like he was the only who freaked at the fear of losing his brother.

The only difference was I had grown more accustomed to hiding that fear, I had also had to deal with it a lot more often.

I had almost lost Sam, a great deal more times than he had almost lost me. Hell, the kid was just six months old the first time I nearly lost him, and actually thinking back, my little brother arrived way ahead of schedule. He was born so early, that I remember almost losing him before he even had a name.

Usually I was able to hide my terror of losing my little brother, often underneath a protective anger or an attempt at humor.

But every now and again I couldn't hide that fear the way I wanted to.

Every once and awhile it showed through.

As I watched my brother sleeping, I thought back to one of the first times I was truly shaken by the fear of losing Sam, and had been entirely unable to hide it.

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That bastard had mutilated them.

It had shredded them to pieces.

Some were dismembered, others so cut up they were nearly unidentifiable.

And that monster had done it all for sport.

Dad and I hadn't found the ravine of bodies until after we already killed the creature.

And as we stared into the mass-grave, I wished that we had never found it at all.

I had hoped we would find the children alive. Dad had known better, but even he had blanched at the sight we came across.

I wished we had killed that supernatural fucker so much slower.

I didn't think the scene could get any worse, didn't think I could ever lay eyes on anything more horrific, until I caught sight of the brown shaggy head of hair, covering a young bloodied face.

My breath caught, my heart stopped, and my legs crumpled.

"Woah Dean, easy there son."

I felt my father's hands wrapping around my chest, halting my decent to the ground.

I released a choked sound as I pointed shakily towards the thin filthed body.

"Wha-"

I heard my dad inhale sharply, as his gaze landed on what I had been struggling to point out.

"It's not him, Dean. That's not Sammy. The body is too decomposed. That kid has been here for a few weeks at the least. We just left your brother in the car less than an hour ago. It's not him, Dean. It's not Sam."

My father's words slowly pushed their way through the terror wreaking havoc in my mind, and I sagged in relief, feeling myself being lowered to kneel on the forest floor, so that Dad no longer had to hold my lax weight.

"It's not your little brother, Dean. I swear to you, it's not." John insisted as he held my shoulders to keep my upright, and possibly provide some degree of comfort as well.

I tried to take slow and steady breaths, playing my father's words on a mantra in my head, forcing myself to believe them

It's not Sam.

The body is too decomposed to be his.

It's been here a few weeks.

I just saw Sam an hour ago.

It's not Sam.

 _But it could have been_ ,my traitorous mind whispered.

And just like that, I threw up.

I leaned forward, heaving aggressively as my stomach emptied itself out onto the grass.

"Easy, Son. Take it easy." Dad muttered, keeping a hold on me so that my uncooperative body didn't tumble forward.

Once it felt like all of my insides had been forced out my gullet, I was finally able to stop hurling and sit back.

My father placed a water-bottle into my hand and instructed me to rinse, I did as I was asked and blindly handed the bottle back to him.

I went to direct my gaze straight ahead again, away from the regurgitated mess in front of me, but a rough hand covered my eyes.

"Don't look anymore, Dean. You don't need to see it again." He ordered gruffly, as he helped me stand and turned me back into the direction of the car.

"You go back to your brother. I'll follow you after I torch the sonovabitch's body."

I nodded distractedly at the orders, wiping my jacket sleeve across my mouth as I willed my limbs to stop trembling.

"What about-

I couldn't finish the sentence, but I twitched my head in the direction of the ravine.

"I'll make an anonymous call to the police station once we get back to the motel. Their parents deserve to know what happened to them." He stated sullenly, the naked emotion on his face telling me that he was hurting for each parent who would be getting a phone-call that night.

I nodded at the plan, as the older hunter firmly squeezed my shoulder before nudging me in the direction of the clearing.

It took awhile for me to get a steady pace going, my legs taking time to hold their own weight and to stop shaking like those of a newborn colt.

By the time I made it back to the Impala, I could hear my father had fallen into step not far behind me.

Once I made it out into the clearing, my eyes immediately tracked to Sam.

My heart beat didn't stop doing double time until I laid eyes on him.

The kid looked so damn tiny sitting in the middle of the front seat, clutching a shotgun in his fingers.

He visibly relaxed once he spotted me, and let the gun fall out of sight.

I avoided the young boy's studying stare as I raked my own eyes over his thin frame, being sure he was unharmed before focusing back on the ground.

Sam was a perceptive little bitch, and I knew that if he got too good a look at my expression, he would know something awful happened. There was no way in hell I would ever tell him what I saw, and even more than that, I didn't want the kid to know just how rattled I was. Just how terrified I was still feeling, even now that I was positive that bloodied body had not belonged to him, I still couldn't shake the fear...because it could have been him.

I shook my head, trying desperately to rid it of the morbid thought, as I made my way to the truck.

I didn't know how I managed to maintain a firm hold on my gun through the whole ordeal, but it would seem that instinct and training had stayed with me, even when my body and mind had crumbled in terror.

Dad was there to open the trunk and we both dropped our weapons inside. I was so out of it that my father had to grab my elbow to get my attention as he nodded down at my waist, pointing out the fact that I had forgotten to unhook the machete from my belt.

Once I noticed, my dad released my arm, moved to the front of the Impala, and dropped inside.

I returned the machete to it's rightful place, closed the trunk, and slid into the passenger seat without raising my gaze from the ground.

Sam was still in the front seat, and I didn't have to look at him to know he was full of questions, I could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head.

I made sure to avoid his gaze, for the purpose of both discouraging any of his inquiries as well as keeping him from seeing all of the emotion I was unable to contain.

I turned my head toward the window when Sam tried to duck down into my line of sight, effectively stunting his ability to gauge my expression.

We rode in silence, and even though I could feel Sam's gaze shifting between Dad and I, he never uttered a single word.

A few moments into the trip, I felt my little brother shifting closer to me until I could feel him pressed up next to me.

I knew he was worried, and I wanted so badly to tell him everything was fine, give him a wink or a smile the way I always did. The problem being, that I was not yet composed enough for any of those things. Any attempt at comfort would cause me to break, and allow my little brother to see right through me.

I felt small hands grab onto the fist I had in my lap, and I made an effort not to look over as nimble fingers began to uncurl each of mine.

I left the limb lax and allowed my brother to manipulate it any which way he desired, not really paying any mind until I felt him pull my arm over his narrow shoulders.

I let it hang there for a moment, feeling Sam tuck himself into my side, his head coming to rest against my chest, as he seemed to melt against me.

I remained completely still for a minute or two, nervous of doing anything that would cause me to become overwhelmed with emotion. Anything that would make me break.

Because I couldn't break, not in front of Sammy.

I refused to scare him like that.

But the least I could do was provide the kid with some form of comfort. Perhaps I couldn't handle a smile or reassuring words, but Sam didn't always need that.

He had always been a touchy child. Growing up he had always required physical contact to ease his fears or put an end to his tears.

I could give him physical comfort.

I could handle that.

I put my muscles back to work and gripped my brother's upper arm, pulling him impossibly closer to my side.

The small movement was all the reassurance Sam seemed to require for the moment, because he released a relieved sigh.

I kept my gaze out the window, my eyes filling. It was like Sam knew.

Like he knew that I needed further proof that he was okay.

Like he knew I couldn't handle talking to him.

Like he knew what would keep me from shattering.

Because all of the sudden I didn't feel like I was cracking anymore.

I wasn't repaired by any means; I remained rattled and shaken, but I no longer felt like I was still breaking apart.

The rest of the drive was made in silence, we arrived back at the apartment in silence, and we made our way inside in silence.

I felt like I was in a trance, trying to empty my mind, to keep from feeling so terrified, to keep from seeing so many broken bodies.

I was vaguely aware of my father's saying something, but his soft tone seemed to float right around me. However, I did not miss my little brother's gentle tug on my sleeve, and I immediately reacted to his prompting and followed him into our shared bedroom.

I closed the door behind us, instantly picking up the rifle that was rested against the wall and gripping it firmly in my fingers.

I knew the unusual behaviour was probably unsettling to Sam, but I had to protect him.

I could feel the his eyes on me and I knew he was waiting for an explanation.

"Get ready for bed." Was all I could muster, it came out much quieter than I had intended, but my brother heard it just fine, because - after a brief hesitation - he grabbed his things and shuffled off to the washroom.

Being out of sight from Sam had me feeling weary and drained. I dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed, the double-barrel riffle still clutched in my fingers as I stared at the floor, willing myself to pull it together.

But all my will-power didn't seem to hold a match to my fear.

I brought the weapon down to rest across my lap, no longer having the energy or the focus to keep it up, but I maintained a strong hold of it as I kept myself between the door and where Sam would soon be sleeping.

Speaking of Sam, I had failed to notice his exit from the bathroom, but didn't even startle as I registered his presence less than a foot away.

"Go to bed, Sam." I instructed tiredly, glancing over at him for a short second before canting my head to the right, indicating my brother's side of the mattress.

He climbed up onto the bed without a moment's delay, and while a part of me hoped he would lay his head down and fall asleep just as quickly, I knew my little brother better than that.

It was only a few seconds before I heard him calling my name and felt his hand on my shoulder, as his face appeared in my peripherals. Soon after that, he was asking what happened. I supposed the kid's patience had finally worn out and his curiosity was taking control.

"Nothing. We got it. Everything will be fine."

I was hoping that the simple phrases would be enough to reassure Sam.

"Then why are you holding this?" He asked, gently tapping the rifle as he spoke.

I cursed my kid brother's attentive and inquisitive nature, as I gazed down at the fire arm, tightening my hold on it.

"We think there was only one, but they could hunt in pairs. You can never be too careful." I replied, being mostly honest.

I was partially afraid of the return of such a monster, one that did such horrible things to children. But more than that, I just couldn't shake my desperate need to protect Sam, even when I wasn't certain there was anything to protect him from.

"The research didn't say anything about them hunting in pairs." The young boy next to me declared in a hushed tone.

I winced, knowing that Sam had been sneaking around trying to learn about the hunt he had been forbidden to take part in. I couldn't muster any anger though, because I was just so damn glad that he hadn't seen what I had, and that he hadn't ended up as a victim.

"I know. But if they do...and the partner wants revenge...he could...I can't let it get you." I whispered, inwardly cringing as my mind tormented me with what could happen to Sam if a creature like that was to get to him.

And as if being bombarded by imaginary images of the horrible things that could have been done to my little brother, wasn't enough, Sam added fuel to the fire. By accident, I knew, but he added it nonetheless.

"Did you...did you find the other kids?"

That gentle inquiry had my eyes filling as I was suddenly brought back to the very real image of the ravine, and I was staring at a small boy with shaggy hair, a boy who was covered in blood and laying impossibly still, a boy who would never again smile, laugh, or draw a breath, a boy I had thought to be Sammy.

I turned away, in a futile attempt to hide my distress.

I sucked in a shaky breath, and did my best to form some sort of response that would satisfy Sam, something that would help him understand my current behaviour, without frightening him.

"Yeah, yeah we did, Sammy. It was bad...they were all...that's why I can't...if there's another one, I can't let it get you." I croaked, swallowing convulsively to hold back the sobs I could feel trying to escape. I briskly wiped my eyes clear, and fought hard to collect myself.

"I can't let it get you." I swore, both to myself and Sam. Knowing that I couldn't live without my little brother. That if that had been him lying lifeless in that ditch, my world would have ended.

I noticed Sam shifting around, assuming he was moving to lay down, but was proved wrong as I felt his body leaning against my back and his arms sliding over my shoulders.

I didn't need to look to know what the kid had in his fingers, feeling the light tug on my neck as he held the amulet.

The simple gift I had treasured since the night it was given to me. Because it was more than just a quirky little necklace.

It was trust.

Trust Sam had put in me.

Trust that I would _always_ protect him and be there for him, no matter what.

I released a sigh, relieved as hell that I hadn't broken that trust. Relieved that none of the children who were brutally murdered and tossed away like trash, had been my little brother. Relieved that the kid was safe. And that I would keep him that way.

I felt the charm fall back against my chest, like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place.

Sam's hands clasped down in front of my chest, as his head came to rest on top of mine.

We remained like that for a moment, and I felt myself relaxing as my brother's thin frame leaned into me. The physical contact reminding me that he was okay. He was alive. And he would stay that way.

I could feel the movement of Sam's jaw, and I knew that if I were able to see him, I would see him chewing on his bottom lip.

He was trying to find something to say.

A way to make me feel better.

That wasn't his job, but before I could tell him as much, I heard his soft tone penetrate the silence.

"Nothing is going to get me, Dean. I'm safe. You and Dad killed the monster, and now I'm safe. You always keep me safe. I'm going to be alright. And so are you. We are going to be okay, Dean. I promise." Sam stated. His unwavering trust and faith in me making my heart swell.

God, this kid.

This fucking kid.

Calming the fear in my mind, and the terror in my soul, with such simple words.

Sam didn't know what happened, but he knew I was worried about him, and he knew just how to remind me that he was safe. Not only that, the kid trusted me so implicitly to keep him that way.

I couldn't help but give in to the smile that pulled at my lips.

Because it was just so fucking Sammy to be able to put me back together again.

To put an end to the terror that had taken over me, simply by reassuring me of his well-being, and putting all of his faith in me.

"Thanks Sammy." I said, finally being able to recognize my own voice.

I brought my hand up from where it had been loosely gripping the rifle, and I rested it on Sam's clasped hands. It wasn't there a second before I felt his fingers curling tightly around my own.

The fear hadn't disappeared, and I knew it would be some time before I'd be able to let Sam out of my sight. It would be even longer before I would stop seeing the mass-grave of children who had fallen victim to the monster, as well as seeing my little brother amongst them.

But for now those thoughts were being chased away by my little brother's presence.

Sam was making it impossible for me to forget that he was okay - that he was alive - with his small fingers clinging onto mine, his chin in my hair, his soft breaths sounding atop my head, his thin frame leaning into me, and his heartbeat thrumming against my back.

Sam was grounding me in a way that no one else could.

He was only eleven years old, but he knew exactly what to say to keep me sane.

He knew exactly what to do to chase away the trauma and calm my mind.

Without being told, he knew precisely how to put me back together again.

He kept me from being overwhelmed with fear, or drifting off into despair.

Sammy was my anchor.

He always gave me everything he had to give.

And for that, I owed him everything.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That wasn't the last time Sam played the role of comforter, but it was one of the first.

I wish I could give my kid everything; a life without grief, or danger, or pain. But, no matter how hard I try, I can't grant him that. What I can do is give him comfort, reassurance, and protection, just like he does for me.

My little brother's breathing began to quicken, and I know from years or experience that his dreams are starting to turn sour.

It's pure instinct that has me combing my fingers through the kid's tangled mess of hair. It works just as well as it always has, and his breathing slows as his grip on my wrist tightens, and he nuzzles his head closer to my shoulder.

I smile at the young man's cat-like antics.

This kid hasn't changed.

He is still the same shaggy headed, dimple face, boy I have always known.

He still worries and fusses whenever I'm hurting.

He still gives me all he possibly can.

And he still trusts me and has complete faith in me.

I hope that I never betray his trust.

That I never give him reason to lose faith in me.

But more than that, more than anything else, I hope that I am _always_ able to keep him safe.

Because without Sam.

Well...there is no without Sam.

Because without my little brother, without Sammy, there is nothing.

 _The End (for real this time)_

* * *

Note: Thanks for reading1 I'd love to know your thoughts, if you have a minute? - Sam


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